


the rules we've made are meant for breaking

by findyourfortunefalling



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Depictions of Police Practices, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Police, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 11:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findyourfortunefalling/pseuds/findyourfortunefalling
Summary: "Officer Burroughs says you claimed to be in possession of narcotics, and that you had them secreted in-""Would it help to tell you I was joking?" Klaus looks wobbly on his feet, and pale, even paler than usual. Diego wonders when he last had a solid meal, or slept in a bed. Slept at all, come to that. "I didn't think your esteemed colleague was stupid enough to believe me.""Klaus." Diego pinches the bridge of his nose. "You told a police officer, who was in the process of arresting you, that you had drugs stashed up your ass. Burroughs is not the stupid one here."





	the rules we've made are meant for breaking

**Author's Note:**

> So, about that totally consensual thing I was going to post next. I got blindsided by a dumb meme about a guy getting off on a cop searching his butt for meth, and... this happened. I am not American, and the police practices depicted in this piece of horny fanfiction are not accurate or advisable for anywhere on the planet, I hope. While it is consensual, it is certainly bad police work, and the con is pretty dub to begin with. Let me know if I've missed any tags you feel I should have included. Title from 'Lay Your Hands On Me', by Bon Jovi.

"You have to be shitting me," says Diego. "I can't. It's... unethical, or whatever."

"Probably," says Kowalski, stuffing the file into his hands. "But the new captain's got a real hard on for narcotics, and holding is full to busting with junkies after the bust last night. Arresting officer says he has drugs on him; somebody's gotta check him over, and everyone else is busy. Sorry, Hargreeves." He walks away before Diego can argue any further.

"Delightful to see you as always," says Klaus, dropping inelegantly into the chair at Diego's desk. He gives him a little wave; the handcuffs on his wrists jingle. "Look, this really isn't necessary."

Diego checks the sheet. Oh, Christ. "Officer Burroughs says you claimed to be in possession of narcotics, and that you had them secreted in-"

"Would it help to tell you I was joking?" Klaus looks wobbly on his feet, and pale, even paler than usual. Diego wonders when he last had a solid meal, or slept in a bed. Slept at all, come to that. "I didn't think your esteemed colleague was stupid enough to believe me."

"Klaus." Diego pinches the bridge of his nose. "You told a police officer, who was in the process of arresting you, that you had drugs stashed up your ass. Burroughs is not the stupid one here."

Klaus shrugs, but has the decency to look sorry for himself. "All I said was he was welcome to check me over personally if he thought I was holding," he says, aiming for nonchalance and missing. "It wouldn't be the first time a flirtatious comment has scared off one of the boys in blue. There's kind of an institutional homophobia problem in this city's police force, you know."

"Well, thanks to your crusade for gay rights, you're spending the night in the cells." Klaus looks stricken, and Diego has to work to quash the urge to comfort him. "New captain, big crackdown on drugs cases. Can't let you go till you've been searched, and forensics have their hands full- big bust last night. I'm practically the only officer on."

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut, and sighs. "Oh, well," he says, in this horrible, falsely bright voice. "I'd been wondering where I'd sleep tonight, so that's that squared away, at least." God, he looks tired. Tired and thin, and... brittle, somehow, like he'd shatter if you touched him. Like he needs gentle handling. Holding isn't so bad, usually, but it really is busy tonight; nobody in there is going to be gentle with Klaus.

"Or I could do it," Diego hears himself say, and immediately wants to slap a hand over his own mouth. "I mean, I don't- obviously I don't _want_ to, to- you could be out of here in an hour, if you really don't have anything on you."

The look Klaus levels at him is complicated; suspicion, amusement, an edge of fear that makes Diego feel nauseous. "Yeah, okay," he says softly, then, in a loud, coquettish tone, "just promise you'll be gentle."

Rolling his eyes, Diego takes his arm and leads him to the nearest empty interview room.

When he comes back with coffee and water and a search kit, Klaus has sat himself cross-legged on the table, and is picking at his nails. He accepts the coffee, drinks half of it in one gulp, and leans back, watching Diego start filling in the paperwork. "Luther said you'd become a cop. I didn't believe him at the time," says Klaus. "Paperwork and due process don't really seem like your thing."

"Yeah, well, at least I have a job," says Diego, scribbling Klaus's name and date of birth on the form. He doesn't tell Klaus how skull-crushingly boring filling out forms and writing reports is, or how he has to sneak down to the gym and punch things until his knuckles bruise every time he has to let some scumbag walk because he doesn't have the evidence to lock them away where they belong. They don't tell each other stuff like that, anymore. "When did you talk to the big guy, anyway?"

"Oh, now, let me think," says Klaus. "Thirty one days ago? Might have been thirty two."

Diego looks up from the form, and takes another look at Klaus. Thin and pale and tired, but with none of the restless energy or languor he'd expect from him being high. "Rehab?"

"Clean and sober," says Klaus, with another fake smile. "You'll find my chip when you frisk me, officer."

Right. Frisking. His job. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Lemme get the cuffs off,” Diego says, fishing out the key.

“You’re not worried I’m going to resist?” Klaus says, coquettish again, and holds out his hands.

“Not really, no,” says Diego. He unlocks the cuffs, places them on the table, and steps back. “You done this before?”

“A strip search? Oh, Diego,” says Klaus. He hops off the table. “I couldn’t tell you how many of these I’ve had, and that’s not even counting the recreational ones.” He shimmies out of his jacket, turns out the pockets, and hands it to Diego. Then he pulls off his shirt, a flimsy little thing he would have had a hard time hiding a stick of gum in, let alone drugs, and hands that over, too. He takes off his pants- that takes a little longer, with how tight they are- and his briefs last. He isn’t wearing shoes or socks, and his toes look almost blue with cold.

Diego coughs, trying to make himself focus. Search. Police work. He takes out his pen light. He barely has ask Klaus to shake his hair out, to stick out his tongue, to lift his arms; Klaus goes through the motions like he genuinely has done this more than a few times, and the thought sends a funny little pang through his chest.

There’s nothing on Klaus except goosepimples, he’s relieved to find. He leaves Klaus standing, nude, while he feels through his clothes, but there’s nothing illegal there, either- a mostly empty wallet, two loose cigarettes, forty-three cents in change, a soda bottle cap, a rock shaped kinda like a Pac-Man ghost, and, yes, a Narcotics Anonymous sobriety chip, blue plastic, with a 30 stamped in the triangle. He piles the items next to Klaus's clothes, and turns back to the rest of the search kit, pulling out a pair of gloves and a single-use tube of surgical lubricant.

"Lube and everything! What a gentleman," says Klaus. He's shivering, just a little.

Diego rolls his eyes, tamping down another pang of unfamiliar emotion. "Hands on the table, and lean forward," he says, in what he hopes is a businesslike voice.

"Sir, yes sir," Klaus says, and turns and bends over without complaint. Diego can see his ribs through the skin of his back, but his ass still has a little flesh clinging to it.

Diego pulls on the gloves, and pops the tube of lubricant, slicking the middle and index fingers of his right hand. This part, he's never done before. It's not part of his job, and though he's fooled around with a few guys since leaving home- the Academy, since leaving the _Academy_\- he hasn't done this.

It's fine. He knows how it’s done. He’s just not really supposed to do it. "Try to relax," he says, and brings his wet fingers down to Klaus’s ass.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," says Klaus. The muscles in his back clench at Diego’s touch, so Diego just leaves his fingers there for a minute, letting him get acclimated, and puts his left hand on Klaus's back to steady himself. Klaus lets out a soft sound, barely more than an exhale, and his posture relaxes fractionally. Diego’s kind of… petting Klaus, actually, which is not the protocol at all, but then again, neither are the slow circles he’s rubbing around Klaus’s rim. He just needs Klaus to loosen up to get this done with the minimum of trauma. That’s all.

“Alright, deep breath,” he says, and pushes his index finger into Klaus’s hole.

Even through the glove, Klaus is shockingly warm inside. Warm, and tight, and another tiny sound escapes him when Diego pumps his finger in and out, spreading the lube around. The sound makes Diego’s gut clench; he busies himself with nudging a second finger in alongside the first. Not too fast, he hopes, but faster than he would if this were- well. Under different circumstances.

Klaus _flutters_ around Diego’s fingers, and that clenching in Diego’s stomach gets worse. He’s just… gotta feel around a bit, and then this can be over. He twists his wrist, rubbing around inside, and tries to keep his breathing even when Klaus lets out a shuddering gasp and tilts his hips back, just a little, like he can’t help it. "Oh shit," says Klaus under his breath.

Diego should finish the search now. Klaus doesn't have anything; he'd never have agreed to let Diego search him if he did. He definitely shouldn't look between Klaus's legs to watch his fingers disappear into Klaus's wet, grasping hole, so it's his own fault when he does just that, and notices that Klaus is hard. Like, _hard_ hard. His balls are drawn up tight, and the way his cock is pressed into the Formica tabletop has to be painful. "Jesus," he says without thinking. "Klaus-"

"Please shut the fuck up," says Klaus grimly. "It's been a while, okay, rehab isn't exactly a cruising hot-spot, and you have your _fingers_ in my _ass_. Hurry it up so we can relegate this nightmare incident to the annals of fucked up family trauma."

"Gee, I'm not sure," says Diego's mouth, operating without his instructions again. "I'd be remiss in my duties if I failed to conduct this search with due diligence," he continues, and twists his fingers deeper into Klaus, knuckles rubbing his perineum.

"What are you- ohhh fuck," says Klaus, as Diego's fingers slide over… something; a soft, almost rubbery spot, inside and down a little. Klaus's whole body shivers. "Oh fuck oh fuck, Diego, you need to stop."

Abruptly, a memory swims to the top of Diego's brain: Mom, showing them slides of diagrams of the human body, pointing out the different parts, the light of the projector making her skin glow. The prostate gland, he remembers, is a walnut-sized gland situated between the bladder and the penis. He wishes he didn't hear that in Mom's voice in his head, but nothing in Diego's life has ever been simple.

"I'm an officer of the law, Mister Hargreeves," says Diego, close to Klaus's ear. Where is this coming from? What is he _doing?_ "I'm afraid we can't stop until I'm confident you're not in possession of any illegal substances." He presses down on Klaus's prostate, and rubs harder, free hand now gripping Klaus's hip.

"Holy shit," says Klaus. His hips buck, harder this time. "Diego, c'mon. I'm not, I don't, you know I don't, you gotta- if you don't stop I'm going to-" His voice chokes off, and he jerks sharply against Diego's hands, spasming around Diego's fingers as he ejaculates all over the table.

Diego eases off his prostate, but he doesn't pull his fingers out; he takes his other hand off Klaus, too, ashamed of the flare of heat he feels at the sight of the fresh set of marks he's left. Four fingers and a thumb, wrapped around the curve of his hip. They're pale now, but Klaus bruises like a peach; they'll be purple in half an hour.

He strokes his hand down Klaus’s back, making soothing shushing noises, like they do with horses on TV. Klaus shakes under his touch, leaning back into Diego’s body as he rides out the aftershocks of his climax. Diego’s vaguely aware that he’s hard in his uniform slacks, but it feels beside the point, somehow. “Hey, hey, shh,” he says, as though to comfort Klaus. As if he’s not the person who just _forced an orgasm_ out of him.

“Shh yourself, asshole,” says Klaus, in a thick voice. When he turns his head to glare over his shoulder at Diego, his eyes are wet. “What in the absolute fuck. Who taught you to do cavity searches? The Marquis de Sade?”

“Did I hurt you?” Diego says. He glances down, but there’s no blood or signs of tearing. Klaus’s rim isn’t even red.

Klaus laughs at that, wet and gasping. “No, you didn’t hurt me,” he says. “Jesus. Bet you’re confident I’m not in possession of anything now.”

Diego hums contemplatively. “Well,” he says, enjoying the shiver that runs through Klaus. “I really only conducted a preliminary search. I’d have to investigate more… thoroughly, to be really sure.” He eases his fingers out, leaving just the tips pressing against the tighter inner ring of his sphincter. Keeping eye contact with Klaus, he lets the tip of his ring finger slide against his hole, too.

Klaus gives him a long, long look. When they were younger, they’d been close. They’d talked about things, exchanged long-suffering glances when Dad was giving orders, slipped each other notes. They’d even had that stupid handshake. Back then, Diego might have known what Klaus was thinking, but now, older, lonelier, and very far removed from their weird mess of a childhood, he has no idea at all.

“More thoroughly,” Klaus echoes. He shifts his legs, widening his stance, and turns his head back to face the wall. “If you really think that’s necessary… officer.”

Diego exhales, slowly. He strokes Klaus’s back one more time, picks up the tube of lube, and squirts a little more onto his fingers, before pushing back in with all three. He's still tight, and he clenches and unclenches around the intrusion as Diego shoves into him. He doesn't focus on any spot in particular just yet; just fucks him, nice and deep, with his pinkie finger tucked along his taint. He lets himself get a little closer this time, pressing his body up against Klaus's side, free hand on his belly.

"You're one lucky idiot, you know that," says Diego, murmuring it into Klaus's neck like a secret. "Any other officer, any other station, and you'd be back on the street with a sticky asshole and a citation, if they didn't just throw you in holding and let you stew overnight. Instead, you got me."

"Like you're not gonna toss me out the second you're done- oh, fuck- playing with me," Klaus says. He's moving, now, humping back into Diego's hand. His cock has to be sliding around in the mess he's left on the table; it has to hurt, at least a little.

"If you want," says Diego. "I can let you limp out of here with your clothes done up wrong and your hole still wet if you've got somewhere in particular you gotta be." He thrusts harder, and lets his mouth drag over Klaus's shoulder, not quite a kiss. "If you don't, though, there's a diner a few blocks from here I like."

"Yeah?" Klaus tips his head back, pressing his hot cheek against Diego's forehead, and stays like that, keeping contact. "They do waffles?"

"It's a diner, of course they do waffles," says Diego. He turns his hand, wrist up, and lets his knuckles drag over Klaus's prostate. "Sometimes I stop off for coffee or whatever when my shift ends. They're open all night."

"When, uh, when do you-" Klaus stifles a giggle. "When do you get off?"

"An hour or so," Diego says. "Just something to think about."

Klaus giggles again. He's probably not thinking about much, right now. Diego grinds his knuckles down, and spreads his fingers out as much as he can; it doesn't take too much more of that before Klaus's breath is hitching, and he's shuddering and groaning through another orgasm. This one leaves him down on his elbows, face inches off the table, and panting like he's just run drills.

"Coffee," says Klaus. His tongue is clumsy in his mouth. "Coffee sounds great, actually."

"Cool." Diego presses a kiss to Klaus's neck, and bends to pick up the bottled water he brought in with the search kit. It's tricky to open one-handed, but he manages to prop it against his elbow, and he feeds Klaus little sips of it while he gets his breath back. He takes a drink himself when he thinks Klaus is done, and puts the bottle on the table, screwing the cap back on.

He’s going to pull his fingers out of Klaus’s ass any minute now. Definitely. He’s just going to let him recover first, and then-

Klaus’s hips move against his hand.

“Really?” says Diego, but he’s moving his fingers in counterpoint to Klaus’s shifting already. “You want it? Again?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Klaus groans. “What can I say, your search technique is really something.”

Diego laughs, not unkindly, and gets the lube out again.

“Y’finding anything interesting up there?” Klaus says. He’s bent right over, down on his forearms, resting his head on his hands. There’s a dreamy, faraway look on his face, and he’s almost slurring his words. “All I ever find up assholes is. Y’know. More asshole.”

“I’m not even getting that deep,” says Diego. He feels weirdly… _fond_ of Klaus like this. He’s soft, biddable, and taking care of him feels easy, feels simple. The diner he told Klaus about is only ten minutes’ walk from his apartment; it’s a shithole, but his bed is big enough for Klaus to crash there tonight, and maybe after that- who knows. Maybe. “Should have picked up my nightstick. That’d be something to remember me by.” Klaus snorts, but he clenches around Diego at the words. “You’d let me, I bet. You’d _beg_ me for it.”

“Mmmfff,” says Klaus into his hands, and arches his back, tilting his ass up for more.

Time goes hazy, for a bit. Somewhere along the line he slid his pinkie finger in as well, and now he’s up to his knuckles in Klaus’s grasping heat. The tube of lube is empty, and he's starting to feel it a little, a stickier drag. Whatever brand they’re putting in search kits is _not_ designed for long-term use, even with gloves. He toys, very briefly, with the idea of noting this observation in his search report, and laughs again, just to himself. Klaus doesn’t seem to notice.

To keep himself amused, he touches Klaus’s body. Not that pistoning his fingers in and out of Klaus’s asshole doesn’t take up most of his attention, but he’s a multitasker. It’s a pretty nice body, even if he is too skinny- little pink nipples that stiffen under his touch, slim hips, the occasional pale scar- and he responds so beautifully to being touched, moaning and sighing for it almost as much as he does for being fucked. Diego doesn’t touch his cock, though. That seems almost like cheating.

“You think you can come for me one more time?” Diego asks. Klaus’s cock is hard again, a bright, angry red, and he’s starting to twitch inside in a manner with which Diego is rapidly becoming accustomed, but three in under an hour is still a pretty big ask.

“I don’t know,” says Klaus, in that punch-drunk tone. He doesn’t sound like he cares much either way. “I want to. I want you to make me.”

“Yeah? Okay,” says Diego, and he fucks Klaus harder and faster. He can’t keep up this pace for terribly long, but he doesn’t think he’ll need to, the way Klaus bucks under him.

“Yeah, yeah, like that. Shit, fuck, Diego, I’ve never, not like this, you’re so fucking,” Klaus babbles, trailing off into a series of oh-oh-oh sounds, getting higher.

“God, the way you take it,” Diego sighs, getting breathless himself. “Shame we’re out of lube, or I could probably fit my whole hand in here.” He rubs his thumb around Klaus’s rim where he’s stretched open wide, and that, the sensation, or the words, or both, is enough to tip Klaus over into a third climax. The noises coming out of him now are just incoherent moans, and the mess of come on the table is starting to drip down Klaus’s legs and puddle on the floor.

“Okay, stop, stop. Red, mercy, safeword,” Klaus gasps. Diego doesn’t know what those last few words meant, but Klaus sounds like he means it, so he pulls his fingers out as gently as he can. His whole hand is a constellation of muscle cramps. Thank goodness he had the gloves on; if he hadn’t, his fingers would be pruned all to hell.

Klaus slumps on the table, still shuddering. When Diego helps him up and turns him over, he’s crying again, silent tears tracking down his red face. Diego does what he can with the wet wipes in the kit, but he still ends up with spunk on his slacks pulling Klaus into a hug.

“Holy fucking shit,” Klaus says, muffled by Diego’s collar. “You’re. You’re pretty good at that.”

“Gee, thanks,” says Diego drily. He elects not to tell Klaus it was his first time. For all that Klaus is wet and nude and drenched in sweat and his own jizz, it doesn’t feel like the moment for emotional vulnerability. “I should get business cards.”

“I’ll be sure to pass the word to my buddies. Officer Hargreeves, cavity search expert,” Klaus says, with another hysterical little giggle.

Officer. Diego is a _police officer_, and he’s sitting in an interview room with his naked, very obviously post-coital brother, who he just finished fingerbanging. How long have they been in here? Just how soundproof are these rooms, anyway? “I gotta finish the report,” he says gently, prying Klaus off his shoulder. “And clean up in here, before anyone comes to make sure I haven’t killed you.”

“Huh, you might have,” says Klaus. “Not sure my legs work anymore.”

Diego sighs, and retrieves Klaus’s clothes from the pile where he left them. He has to help Klaus into them, particularly the ridiculous pants, and it takes some doing, but eventually Klaus is decent- as decent as he was when he was arrested, anyway. “Listen,” he says. Klaus blinks at him. “I’m gonna finish up in here. Go wait for me at my desk, and we can go get that coffee when my shift ends. Okay?”

“Okay,” says Klaus agreeably. He wobbles when he walks- watching him wince, Diego feels the thump of his own pulse in his sorely neglected dick- but he makes it out the door alright. Moving quickly, Diego mops up what he can of the disaster on the table and the floor, and scribbles out what is possibly the worst search report any officer has ever lodged. It’ll have to do. Piling the gloves and wipes and empty tube into the waste bag, he gets everything in order, tries to school his face into something approaching normality, and heads back to his desk.

Both chairs are empty. Kowalski bustles over, carrying another stack of files. “Thanks, buddy,” he says, scooping the report out of Diego’s hands. “Getting searched must’ve really spooked that guy- he lit out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“Yeah, guess it must have,” says Diego. He has no idea what his face is doing, but his voice comes out even, at least.

“You want a coffee? Macy just made a fresh pot,” says Kowalski.

“I was planning to hit Rosa’s after shift,” says Diego. He sits down heavily at his desk, realising as he does so that neither the handcuffs nor the handcuff keys are in the armful of stuff he brought out of the interview room. “Actually, you know what, I will have one. I got nowhere else I need to be.”


End file.
